


Poor Mr. Tillers

by mrsprobie



Series: Dudley, You're a Wizard (Too) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Magical Dudley Dursley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsprobie/pseuds/mrsprobie
Summary: Dudley performs accidental magic at school, and his poor science teacher keeps noticing. Severus Snape keeps wiping the man's memory. (Maybe that's why his taste in television is so sub-par.)





	Poor Mr. Tillers

Over the course of the 1986-1987 school year, Dudley Dursley's science teacher, Mr. Robert Tillers, became addled.

Some of the parents assumed that he was having a hard time at home (divorce? Death of a parent? Secretly gay, and his dog found out? The rumors flew). Some of the teachers assumed that he was using drugs. Some of the students assumed that he was a slightly mad man who had always been that way, and weren't all teachers, really?

Even young Dudley wouldn't find out for years what exactly was happening.

The first time Mr. Tillers noticed Dudley doing magic, a few boys were in the middle of a very intense bullying session. Dudley was trying to hold down Christopher Blair while Piers Polkiss took what the bigger boys wanted from Chris's lunch. Unfortunately for Dudley, Chris was a squirmy little bugger, and he kept escaping long enough to smack his lunch out of Piers's hands.

Mr. Tillers was jogging over to reprimand the boys when Chris was inexplicably pulled toward a wide-eyed Dudley. He ran faster, a little confused as to what he'd missed, and then had the fright of his life.

Chris Blair was stuck to the floor. Not with glue, and not with magnets, and not with anything that Robert Tillers was remotely aware of in this world. Chris simply could not be separated from the floor.

Several hours and a few panicked phone calls later, none of them were left with any recollection of the incident. The next day, Mr. Tillers forgot to pick up his classes' homework from the week before.

A few months later, in early December, Dudley was waiting with his cousin - strange boy, Harry, always looked a little peaky, and his aunt and uncle said he was causing a bit of trouble at home - for Petunia to pick them up. The winter air was chilly, and both boys' cheeks were tinted pink. They were standing quite far from the other children, as Petunia seemed to like to pick them up at the very start of the block (she usually sped past the other parents still waiting in line, a pinched expression on her face). Mr. Tillers was ready to go over and make some small talk - maybe get some perspective on Harry's home behavior, he seemed so well behaved at school - when it happened.

Dudley glanced at Harry and muttered something. Harry, eyes wide, replied with something that Dudley didn't seem to like. The larger boy's glance turned into a glare, and he turned to Harry in a threatening stance. Without it even being touched, Harry's scarf began quickly tightening around his neck.

Harry's face was turning rapidly from pink to red, but Mr. Tillers was unable to move. Whether from fear or from  _whatever was happening_ , he wasn't sure, but he found himself watching, frozen.

Harry choked out some words that Mr. Tillers could not hear, and as quickly as it had begun tightening, the scarf went slack and then snaked its way gently around Dudley's neck. Mr. Tillers stumbled forward, but before he could ask what the hell had happened, an exasperated, lanky man in a long black coat - perhaps a few years younger than Mr. Tillers himself - seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was facing away from Mr. Tillers, but gestured broadly, probably telling them off or demanding they explain.

Mr. Tillers could  _definitely_  use an explanation.

The boys' eyes grew wide, but with the fear that comes from recognition rather than surprise. Harry looked away from the tall, dark man, eyes on the ground, and seemed to whisper something. Dudley immediately hung his head in shame, and this strange, sudden man whipped his head around. His eyes were as dark as his hair and his coat, and for half a moment he tilted his head as if trying to place Mr. Tillers.

Of course, Mr. Tillers wouldn't recall any of this. In fact, the next day, it would take him a few moments to recall exactly which boy was Harry and which boy was Dudley. He had similar issues through the day with naming children, and by the end of his last class had resorted to simply calling them by "you" and other cop-outs.

The children, of course, told their parents, and the parents told his boss they thought he had come into work intoxicated. He weaseled his way out of a formal note on his record by explaining that he had simply stayed up late the night before after watching the second part of the latest  _Doctor Who_  arc (and he had - Colin Baker was an utter riot, he really hoped they would keep him around another few years).

He took some time to himself over the winter holiday, spending time with his cat and trying to watch EastEnders reruns (he gave up quite quickly, because honestly, who liked this rubbish?).

The first month of second term went by without much of note happening, although he did catch himself calling students by the wrong name, or forgetting to pick up homework, or trying to go over topics they had in fact covered the term prior.

In February, it all fell to hell. He'd been planning a lovely evening; he just wanted to go home and watch the second episode of Hardwicke House (the pilot had been wonderful, he couldn't wait for more!). All he had to do was get through the last three parent-teacher meetings, and two of them were even combined into one: Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter.

Mr. Tiller understood very little in the way of social cues. Of course, even an entirely socially capable person would have had no way of knowing that saying that Dudley bullied Harry perhaps too often, and also that the boys could manage some utterly  _strange_  mischief, almost like magic, would prompt Vernon Dursley to punch him in the face.

He didn't remember the conversation next day, and he didn't have a bruise, but he did wonder why his face was so sore and why he'd missed out on the second episode of Hardwicke House. He'd been very excited, after all… must have slipped his mind. He remembered coming home and having a glass of wine with Mr. Russell, his dear tortoiseshell cat. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic. Or his mind truly was going, just like everyone was saying…

He did his best to pretend it wasn't happening, but by the end of the year, his ability to run his own classroom was shot. He could hardly remember the names of his students, much less their individual strengths and weaknesses and whether he had assigned homework the week prior.

He resigned, and the town of Little Whinging seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Mr. Tillers had been so  _strange_.

Somewhere, miles away, Severus Snape was struck by the idea that he  _may_  have gone a little overboard on some of those memory charms.


End file.
